The Court Record
by Seraphim Starlight
Summary: A collection of oneshots dealing with various things from the first and second games. Spoilers abound.
1. Exhibit A: Gratitude

**Gratitude**

Category: Friendship, Humor

Characters: Edgeworth, Phoenix, Maya

Time: Game 1, Case #4 and Game 2, Case #4

Summary: He wanted to thank her.

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Disclaimer: I don't own the Phoenix Wright games.

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If there was one thing that bumbling idiot of an attorney had done right it was to choose a good assistant. And no, it was not because of her purported abilities as a spirit medium either, for Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth certainly did _not_ believe in Spirit Channeling or whatever it was that the girl did (despite Franziska's claims to have evidence proving that such a thing was indeed possible). Oh no. The reason that the girl was useful and, thus, in his book a "good" assistant was that she—when sufficiently motivated by…whatever it was that motivated her—could be remarkably tenacious when it came to gathering evidence—so much so that she could even wrench a vital clue from the hand of a man much stronger than her _while_ she was being tasered. And, though he hated to admit that others were capable of remarkable actions, this was one instance where he couldn't help being amazed—but only slightly, mind you.

And that piece of evidence, wrestled away in the midst of her struggle had been the final nail in the coffin of one Manfred von Karma. And though some small, childish part of him could not believe that his adoptive father had been the one to steal the life of his biological father, he knew that the evidence—_that_ evidence in particular said otherwise. But he was not…angry that she had, in a sense, destroyed what little illusion he had of family; on the contrary, he was grateful to her for, at last, bringing the truth to light. And though he was aware that it had been Wright—not her—who had argued his case—had defended him against the same man responsible for his father's death, he was also keenly aware that Wright's argument would have fallen apart without that last, crucial piece of evidence—the evidence she had gathered, evidence Wright would _never_ have been able to gather on his own.

And so, he concluded that Wright was most certainly right to worry when she went missing the following year; after all, without her there, Wright had likely lost the best part of himself right along with her. Granted, the other, younger girl who now followed Wright like a second shadow was, by far, more calm and collected than her, she did not yet seem to possess the same…tenacity that had served the other girl so well. But, she might yet prove to be formidable—in a few more years…perhaps.

Still, the other girl—as boisterous and sometimes inefficient as she was—he owed her a debt—a debt that he full intended to repay.

So when Wright had finally informed him of the girl's kidnapping during that run in at the Hotti clinic after Franziska's shooting, he had been more than glad to lend his aid. After all, if there was one thing he disliked more than being wrong, it was being in debt. Of course, he'd never let Wright know that he was aiding anyone willingly—that just went against his image after all—so he had said stiffly that he would organize a team to help rescue her.

After all, the sooner this matter was resolved, the better. He would be out of debt, and Wright would once again be back to his normal bumbling self. After seeing the other man's awful performance in court that day, Edgeworth was convinced that rescuing the girl would be the best thing not only for all parties involved in the trial (with the exception of Engarde of course) but for the general public as well. Because once the girl was back, Wright would finally get his act together and expose Engarde's misdeeds to the court and put him away once and for all.

He sighed. It really seemed that Wright couldn't do much…right on his own. Rescuing the girl would only set things right and restore his own peace of mind. Most of all, Wright would finally pull himself together and start taking care of his own investigations again. And after that incident with that giant, _heavy_ stuffed bear that he ended up carrying out of the hotel all on his own, _that_ was one thing Edgeworth would certainly be grateful for.

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**Author's Note:**

I always wondered how Edgeworth managed with that stuffed bear. Sure, he could have just taken a picture of it, but imagining him carrying it out is just so much more amusing.

At any rate, this is my first foray into the realm of Phoenix Wright fanfiction. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated.


	2. Exhibit B: Conviction

**Conviction**

Category: Drama

Characters: Phoenix, Maya

Time: Game 2, Case #2

Summary: He objected to impossibilities.

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Disclaimer: I don't own the Phoenix Wright games.

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed!! Your reviews were all so helpful :) ! I really appreciate all your comments. Again, thank you very much!

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His response had been immediate. Of course he would break the door down! He started forward, ignoring the incredulous look he received from Lotta, pausing only to inform Morgan that her oh-so-precious door was about to be broken down in order to save his very precious assistant.

Later, he would remember that Maya was Morgan's niece and realize that his earlier statement should have said that Morgan's oh-so-precious door was about to be broken down in order to save her oh-so-precious niece, but in the days to come he would realize that the statement would truly have been as sarcastic as it sounded.

It would matter then but not now. Nothing mattered now but the wooden door which refused to budge. He took a couple steps back and, ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder, lunged forward again.

The door shuddered; the lock rattled, but neither showed any sign of giving. He stepped away yet again, clenching and unclenching his fist to try to dissipate the pain that now radiated up and down his entire arm.

Behind him Lotta was shrieking something about it being impossible to break down the door—that it was just too much for him to handle on his own, and Morgan was watching him with faint concern. Something else drifted below the surface of her expression, but he did not pause long enough consider what it might mean. All that mattered was that the door was still closed and that _she_ was still inside, possibly hurt, possibly—

Before he could even finish the thought his feet had unconsciously carried him forward, crashing him into the door. The door groaned, heavy with the weight of rules and traditions—ancient edicts brought forth into the modern day and faithfully upheld by the scores of followers since. Some small part of his mind was dimly aware that this was, in a sense, sacrilege. He had little idea of the meaning this door might hold for the disciples of the Kurain channeling technique, but, right now, all it represented to him was a obstacle that must be overcome.

He rammed the door again, and this time, to his relief it budged but not enough to make a difference. Lotta's tune had changed slightly as she had gone from saying it was impossible on his own to simply saying it was impossible.

"Objection," he muttered through clenched teeth as he prepared to ram the door yet again. Objection. Objection. Objection. It was not impossible. It would give. And if it would not, he would make it.

He slammed himself into the door with force he had not though himself capable of. The wood groaned for a second in an exhausted protest.

_Enough. _

Wood splintered, and the door burst open, the lock clanking uselessly as it swung. For a moment he teetered, off-balance, but his foot instinctively planted itself firmly on the ground, and, at last, he stepped through the door to where she was.

_Objection…sustained._

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**Author's Note:**

This story started out as one of the vaguest ideas in the set. Honestly, when I looked back at my list of ideas for this collection, I wasn't even sure I'd keep it. Still, I didn't have the heart to let it go, so…here it is.

Ah, I'm not at all sure what I expected from this piece, but, since I'm trying to do this in something vaguely resembling chronological order, this story needed to be place here.

Fortunately, however, I do know exactly what I'm going to write for the next one, so it shouldn't be as meandering as this.


End file.
